


Forked

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Parseltongue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 11:03:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry makes a discovery about Gregory's preferences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Furrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Furrina/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.
> 
> A/N: This isn’t properly British.

Harry’s late.

Or Gregory got the time wrong, which is equally as likely. He isn’t good at time. Draco usually drags him places and he just follows, and tonight he’s slumping around the Slytherin common room while he waits, just in case. He knows the right time is somewhere between dinner and midnight. Or maybe midnight. He... should’ve written it down...

Sometimes Harry writes times and places on his arm. Gregory checks his arm. Empty. Damnit. He rolls his sleeve back down and picks his History of Magic textbook back up. He’s doing slightly better in classes in eighth year, probably because he spends less time following Draco around and more time trying to puzzle out homework with Harry.

Harry isn’t anything like Draco. He’s just as small next to Gregory, just as good-looking and just as fast on a broom and quick to yell. But he doesn’t yell at Gregory, and he smiles a lot more than Draco ever did. Smiles are better than smirks, Gregory’s decided. Harry could light up a room with his smile. Harry spent the past several years fighting everything Gregory used to mindlessly follow, and now Harry just wants to relax and be _normal._ He doesn’t want anyone ogling his scar, he doesn’t want anyone revering him, he doesn’t want large expectations and he doesn’t want to be a hero. Gregory doesn’t do any of those things. Gregory’s just sort of there, quiet and in the background, and to Gregory Harry’s just _Harry_.

Harry comes into the common room looking flushed and gorgeous, the way he always does after flying. Quidditch practice, Gregory assumes. There’s a thin sheen of sweat glistening on Harry’s skin and a light in his eyes. He strolls over to the sofa and tosses his bag to the floor, flopping down next to Gregory with a breathless, “Sorry I’m late.”

Gregory shrugs and says, “S’okay.” He closes his own book and tosses it past Harry. It’s late enough that the common room is empty except for them. Gregory told Draco he was staying up to do homework.

He used to wonder if Harry was using him to get back at Draco. He wouldn’t really have minded. He doesn’t know how the hell someone like _him_ managed to score someone like _Harry_ , but however it happened, he’s grateful, and he tries not think about it too much. Now he thinks Harry must genuinely like him, for whatever bizarre reason, because the look Harry gives him is too pure and beautiful to be manufactured. Harry leans up to peck his cheek.

“Doing homework?” Harry asks, before glancing to his side. It’s on Slytherin History and sports a large, moving snake on the front cover. Its eyes glint in the firelight like rubies, angry and oddly jagged. Harry picks it up and stares at it, before hissing something offhanded that Gregory doesn’t at all understand.

When Gregory doesn’t answer, Harry looks over at him, repeating another low hiss. There’s a light in Harry’s eyes that isn’t usually there, and the way his tongue darts across his lips as he ‘speaks’ makes Gregory’s trousers tighten. A lot of things about Harry do that, but this is the first time Gregory’s heard him speak Parseltongue. It couldn’t be anything else. Harry blinks and says, “Greg?”

“Huh?” Gregory grunts.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Do you want to or not?”

Shaking his head to try and clear it of the sensual image of Harry hissing, Gregory mumbles, “What? Sorry, do what?”

Looking a little confused, Harry glances at the book. Then his green eyes widen behind his glasses, and he mutters, “Shit, did I—” But the rest of the words come out in that erotic hiss that only a real snake could understand. Gregory’s just figurative. The low lilt in Harry’s voice makes his head foggy, and he bites back a groan, casually rearranging his robes to cover his lap. Harry hisses something else, and when he looks back, Gregory’s half-lidded and ready to ravage him.

But Gregory never wants to break Harry, so he doesn’t. If he jumped Harry every time he wanted to, they’d never make it to lessons, and Harry would end up in the Hospital Wing twice as much. Harry’s clever. His eyes flicker across Gregory’s face and down to his crotch, and a thin smile stretches across his pink lips.

“I asked if you wanted to study for the Potions test on Wednesday,” Harry says quietly, eyes still downwards and cheeks flushing beautifully. Gregory blushes clumsily; he never gets away with anything. “But if my Parseltongue is making you want to do something else...”

“Don’t be stupid,” Gregory grunts. He doesn’t usually talk to Harry like that, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind. They’re still a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, and they’ll never fully get along. They’re in the common room, and they’re supposed to be studying. They have a test coming up. Gregory knows that Harry isn’t proud of his gift, even if to a Slytherin Parseltongue is a _gift._ He knows that Harry doesn’t want anything to do with the connection he once shared with the Dark Lord, and Gregory, in an effort to keep him, doesn’t want to ruin that. Great sex now isn’t worth losing Harry tomorrow, or worse, Harry feeling poorly about himself. Gregory’s grown more patient in his eighth year. When Harry looks disappointed, Gregory tries to explain, “You don’t really want to do that...”

Harry’s frown instantly turns into a smile. He’s more selfless than Gregory will ever be and infinitely more stubborn. “But if you really want to...”

“I didn’t say I did,” Gregory quickly counters. Harry’s getting closer and closer, and they’re close enough already.

Harry throws a leg over Gregory’s, shifting to straddle him, and Gregory bites back a moan as Harry settles down against his crotch. Harry’s lashes flutter behind his lenses, and he practically moans, “But I think you do...” Then he leans into Gregory’s ear, and he hisses something in Parseltongue that turns Gregory’s veins into _fire._

“ _Harry,_ ” Gregory warns. He’s a dangerous thing to evoke, and it’s torture to keep his hands at his sides when he wants so badly to grab Harry’s hips. Harry ruts shallowly against him, not listening. Harry never was one for rules or playing safe.

“Do you want to know what I asked you?” Harry purrs, sultry and in English, tongue tracing the shell of Gregory’s ear. Gregory shivers in response, not daring to speak lest he betray his need. Harry’s hands slip down Gregory’s broader chest, parting his robes and pushing them aside. Grinding wantonly into him, Harry hisses, “I begged you to fuck me...”

Gregory trembles all over, eyes lolling back in his head. He can’t take it. He can’t take _that_. His hands dart out in spite of himself, grabbing Harry’s thin waist and pulling him down, grinding up into his lithe body and making him whimper. Harry whimpers so deliciously. He’s so strong with a wand—the boy that beat the Dark Lord—but he’s liquid in Gregory’s hands—malleable and easy to trap. He’s hotter than anybody has any right to be. His jeans are tented just as much as Gregory’s are, and when Harry fiddles with Gregory’s zipper, he growls, “Harry, if you don’t stop...”

“I don’t want to stop,” Harry breathes. He dives one hand into Gregory’s trousers, and Gregory throws his head back, skull hitting the couch. A long moan ripples through his body, his hips rutting tirelessly into Harry’s. Harry says something else in Parseltongue and kisses a trail down Gregory’s neck, biting and hissing and just generally being insanely hot. He cups Gregory’s cock beneath the fabric and squeezes. Gregory’s so hard he could come any minute.

But he doesn’t want that. Harry’s body is too perfect to waste. Gregory grabs him by the waist and picks him up suddenly, standing off the sofa. Harry yelps but goes where he’s taken, and he doesn’t protest when Gregory tosses him back into the cushions. Harry stays on his back as the book topples over the edge, snake slithering out of the frame. Harry keeps his legs spread for Gregory to crawl between them, flatting their chests together and grinding Harry into the sofa. Harry’s hands wrap back around him, and Gregory wants to touch _everything._ He traces Harry’s sides, rubs across his stomach, dips to cup his ass. Harry has such a great ass. Gregory slips his hands under the denim to get a firm grip, squeezing Harry while Harry returns to squeezing him. Most of all, Gregory wants to ravish Harry’s mouth, but he isn’t sure if he should block it—such delicious things come out of it.

Gregory settles for devouring Harry’s throat, dragging out erotic moans and breathy, incoherent pleading. Harry takes a minute to regain himself and manage more urgent hissing, more of that beautiful gift that Salazar himself had. Every word makes Gregory twitch in Harry’s hand, makes him want to fuck Harry senseless and make Harry writhe like the snake he should be. Harry should be in Slytherin. He’s clever enough and hot enough, and Gregory just wants him around all the time.

Harry begs in English, barely above a whisper, raunchy and dripping with sex, “ _Greg, fuck me..._ ”


End file.
